


The Questions You're Supposed To Ask

by WordsLeftUnspoken



Category: Murdoch Mysteries
Genre: Angst, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Tag, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Murdoch is oblivious but we love him anyway, Stupid bomb went and scared them both, injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 02:49:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4418240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordsLeftUnspoken/pseuds/WordsLeftUnspoken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place during Season 5, Episode 4 - War on Terror. Henry knows who he's supposed to ask about first, but all he needs to know is where George is. George is losing his mind worrying about Henry and really, there needed to be a better reunion scene in this episode.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Questions You're Supposed To Ask

“All the women and children…”

He paused, looking up at Detective Murdoch with a knowing, unshakable gaze that seemed to pierce him. There was another layer below to his voice, a subtle undertone beneath his gaze; something that seemed inappropriate for the question being asked. 

Henry was asking this for two reasons: first of all because he really did care about all those innocent people caught in the crossfire of one madman’s terrible work, and secondly because it was expected of him. These were the kind of questions a respectful man and officer of the law should be asking, not asking about how his best friend and partner was doing. That should come later. 

But really, everyone knew about them; it was no longer a secret that could be kept. This of course didn’t mean people would discuss it over a cup of tea during their lunch break; it was still a kind of taboo subject most people avoided unless absolutely necessary. To Henry, **this** was absolutely necessary. He waited for the Detective to decode his stare, to tell him how George was doing, to reassure him that he was loitering around outside righting an umbrella stand he had overturned in his rush to get to his room. He was always so clumsy in an endearing sort of way. But still, the Detective said nothing. Had something happened to him? Was Murdoch trying to avoid telling him something, struggling to find the proper words? All sorts of thoughts started to run through his mind; was he hurt? Was he…? No. He dare not even think it. He looked up at him from under his eyelashes, almost scared to see his expression.

Naturally it was an expectant look; he was waiting for him to respond. Henry sighed internally. The Detective had to be one of the smartest men in all of Canada, but he really was completely and hopelessly daft when it came to matters of the heart. 

Trying to slow his heart, which had begun to beat painfully hard in his chest, he took a deep breath and whispered, “George?”

“It would appear he has a much harder head than you do.” The Detective said softly with a smile, finally realizing what the young constable must’ve been thinking.  
He finally breathed for the first time since the explosion, air fully filling his lungs giving him a sense of euphoria as his entire body tingled then visibly relaxed. He was okay. George was okay. He would be okay. _They_ would be okay.

“That’s no surprise.” Henry smiled, the expression feeling foreign on his face. Finally, he knew he could rest and get better. He struggled to keep his eyes open, but eventually lost the war, his lids fluttering until they slowly shut. He was set adrift to a place where there were no judgments or bombers or criminals or any need for coppers – just peace and happiness. 

_He dreamt of George. It was Saturday, just before dawn. The sun had just started to peak out over the horizon, bathing the city with a beautiful golden light through the mist. Birds were starting to chirp lazily as they splashed around in small puddles left from last night’s rainstorm. He opened his eyes slowly, knowing there was no need to rush, to hurry up and get into work. He had no obligations, nothing planned for the day except to spend it with George. He inhaled deeply, letting his eyes fall shut again as he took in his surroundings, smelling rain from out the window, candles and roses sitting on his bedside table and a wonderful mix of cinnamon and strawberries coming from the man lying next to him, whose legs were tangled with his, whose body was intertwined with his. It was almost as if they were one person. He lazily played with George’s hands, letting his fingers drift over the other man’s, memorizing how they felt. He stroked the skin that was closest to him, right above his hip, reveling at how soft it was.  
George stirred quietly, opening his eyes and orienting himself before gazing lazily at him. _

_“Henry...” He silently mouthed, smiling and lifting a hand to stroke his face gently. Henry pulled himself up only enough to reposition himself over top his partner. He brushed a stray hair from George’s forehead before silently mimicking him by mouthing the other man’s name. He stared down at him lovingly, still sleepy, locking eyes with him and breathing deeply. George pulled him gently towards him for a soft kiss, affectionately brushing his thumb against his lower lip. Henry sighed happily; this was what he had always wanted from life. Perhaps he didn’t quite expect to fall in love with another man, but lying there, tangled up in the soft crème cotton sheets, lazily enjoying the start of a new day…that was what he had wanted. And he had it._

_And suddenly there was silence. A deathly silence. A silence shattered by a ginormous, all-encompassing crash; and all at once everything around him was turning to fire and ash, consuming his lover while he somehow flew up, up, up above everything else and helplessly watched as everything he loved was destroyed. He screamed in horror and loss, screamed for George, for help, for anyone, everyone to save him and reverse time, turn back the clock to just a few minutes earlier so he could have just a few more moments touching him, memorizing all of his curves, wanting to see him smile, wake up in the morning one more time… No. It couldn’t all be gone. **It couldn’t.** He screamed and thrashed against whatever invisible bonds were holding him down and everything flashed again – _

“Henry!! Henry, dear God, are you alright?! Henry! Talk to me man!”

Who was that? It sounded like –

“Be still Henry, everything’s alright!”

George. He was alive. He was alright. He was here. He gasped for breath and stopped thrashing finally falling back against the pillows, reaching for whatever hold he could get on George.

“Henry? Henry, please, talk to me; are you alright?” George’s voice sounded desperate, desperate and scared, edging on hysteria. What a sight he must be – still covered in blood and bandages, no doubt sweating and red in the face with fear and panic. He reached out, still trying to grab onto George, his arms so heavy…

There. 

He felt human skin at last and grasped onto it with a surprisingly strong grip, refusing to let go until he was sure he wasn’t still dreaming.

“Henry?” George’s voice sounded a bit less terrified now, but still laced with concern. “What do you need?”

Henry opened his eyes and looked confusedly around the room and finding it empty with the door closed until the man sitting on the bed beside him finally came into focus. George. Why was he here? He took a few deep breaths as memories began to come back to him. What had he been saying? Was he alright…? What did he need, that was it. What did he need?

He looked at George to see his hands had found purchase around the back of his neck, forcing him down so that his face was a few centimetres from his own.

“You.” He whispered, locking eyes with him.

George took a breath, blinking in relief. “Henry…” he began quietly, smiling.

“You, George.” He interrupted, “I need you.”

George chuckled softly and closed his eyes briefly, still calming his racing heart, before meeting his eyes again. 

“Well you have me.”

Henry pulled him down and kissed him deeply, not caring where they were, or who could walk through the door without knocking, presuming it was empty and catching them in the act. For once it didn’t matter, all that mattered is that they both needed each other, needed to confirm they were alive and present and _there_. 

One of his hands came around to cup George’s cheek while the other remained on the back of his neck, softly stroking the hair there. George repositioned himself so that both of his hands could brace himself above Henry’s body. They broke apart eventually for a breath, foreheads still touching, eyes closed before Henry opened his eyes to see George’s gazing so deeply and passionately into his that it sent shivers down his spine. 

“Henry, I thought I had lost you…” George whispered, his breath ghosting over Henry’s lips. “The Inspector wouldn’t tell me anything, and everyone looked so somber, no one would tell me anything, and I wanted to find who did this and you weren’t there anymore, you weren’t at my side, _you’re always by my side-_ ”

He gasped for breath, finally revealing how truly scared he had been. He took a few steadying breaths as Henry stroked his cheek softly, hushing him lovingly.

“Henry, I thought you were _gone_.” He whispered desperately, his voice cracking on the last word.

“I know, me too.” Henry whispered, eyes closing again, breathing deeply. “But I’m right here George, we’re both right here. We’re safe now.”

George brought his lips down once more and kissed him thoroughly, one hand coming down to rest on his chest. They broke apart again, and George kissed him gently one last time before pulling away, hand trailing down off his chest down his arm to hold his hand.

“This is a dangerous game we’re playing at Higgins,” he began, half smiling, half serious. “Let’s say someone had walked in on that! Then what would we have done?”

“We would’ve taught them the benefits of knocking on doors I suppose…” Henry replied, smirking. George mock glared at him. 

“Good God Henry, what am I supposed to do with you?” he sighed, shaking his head. But there was still a twinkle in his eye.

Henry looked up at him from underneath his eyelashes with a mischievous, albeit poorly concealed smile. “I can think of a few things George.” He remarked softly. “That is, if you need help. You are an incredibly creative and resourceful Constable.” 

“Henry!” the slightly older man admonished. “Now don’t you start up again!”

They both chuckled. “So what was it that had you so worked up when I came in?” he asked thoughtfully.

“Nightmare…” he replied quietly, staring out the window to the back garden of the hospital.

He saw George nod quietly in understanding beside him out of his peripheral vision. A few minutes of silence, and then: “May I be so bold as to inquire what about?”

Henry kept looking outside, nervous to see George’s reaction.

“You.”

“Me?!”

“You.”

George looked at his partner is disbelief. “Whatever did I do to cause you that horrible a dream demon?” he spluttered in shock and a small bit of guilt.

Henry turned around and looked his eyes once again when he realized he had misunderstood. “Nothing, George! You did nothing! The parts with you in it were…” he blushed and cast his gaze downward, “….lovely. Peaceful, happy.” He grimaced. “It was merely the thing that interrupted us that made it such a horrid experience.”

George looked mildly relieved. “Well I’m glad about that…” He thought for a moment. “Was it…another incendiary device?” 

Henry looked up at him in surprise. “How did you know?”

George tried to smile, but the light that Henry always saw in his grins failed to shine through with the half-hearted attempt.

“Because, Henry… I know you.” His smile faded, “And I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t had one or two of them myself.”

Both men fell into a comfortable silence, merely enjoying being in each others presence. 

“Henry?” George asked quietly after a while.

“Mmm?”

“Promise me something?”

“Anything, George.”

“Don’t leave me.”

Henry looked back up at him to see him looking out the window. He raised to fingers to his chin to make the other Constable look at him. 

“Couldn’t make me if I tried.”

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes I get slightly disgusted at my own fictional fluff. I wrote this forever ago and just finally tweaked it enough so that I could post. I don't own Murdoch Mysteries or any of these characters. You know this, because if I did, there would be a lot more homoerotic behaviour *ahem*


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